Masks
by Miss Late Bloomer
Summary: The collection of POV's based off the episode 'Sancuary'
1. Scotty 1998

**Author's Note**

I just couldn't get this episode out of my head, and I figured on doing what I did for Dog Day Afternoons, for Lilly/Ray. I loved Sancuary, and it wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it. I plan on doing Scotty-1998, then Ana, then Lilly, then Scotty-2006

**Masks**

I cough up a ten dollar bill, hand it over to the lady selling 'em. No big thing, it's just a way to put a smile on a pretty face without too much work being it. Besides, women are suckers for flowers. I swear, it's in the chick handbook: Guideline #2, Guys are losers if they don't give you flowers. Ana ain't like that though. She don't expect, and she don't have all these hidden rules. She's easy to be with, and these days, I can use all of that I can get, 'cause I ain't getting much anywhere else.

Scanning the area for trouble, I plant myself in the middle of a crowd, my fingers closing tighter around the paper protecting her flowers. There's always the chance something will go wrong. This line of work is a constant highwire act, especially for the girls. One false step, and they're history. Ana's good, maybe the best Ramiro's got, but even she ain't immune from a slip up. If she does, she's screwed on either side, no winning there. Dead or in prison. What a great choice.

If somebody looked at Ana, they'd never guess. She looks more qualified to be a nun than a drug runner. Just proves you can't go on looks. She don't belong in this line of work, but who does? Like a lot of the girls, she was suckered in by what she could do for her family, what the money could do. A thousand bucks is peanuts compared to what the goods in 'em are worth, but to Ana, that kind of cash might as well be a million, for her family too. Where Ana's concerned, her family's everything.

Finally, I see her get off the esclator, and when I see her, it hits me. I've missed her, and it don't sit right. It means she's getting under my skin, in my head, and that's bad news. Six billion people on the planet, plenty of them gotta be chicks, and she's on the list of people of billions of chicks off limits. Besides, there's Elisa. Even if things are screwed up, I love her to pieces. Sure, being with the same girl since you're fourteen makes a guy wonder, but I know when I look at the future, one without Elisa just don't make sense.

That train of thought takes a nosedive when I see Anna. Nothing flashly about her. The only jewlery she's sporting is a pair of earrings, ones I've seen before, a gift from her 13th birthday, and thin gold chain around her neck. She's wearing a denim skirt that brushes up around her knees, a red pull-over sweater, and a tan jacket. She's wearing those curls down, framing that cutie-pie face. She ain't one to slap a lot of make-up on it, a little lipstick, some mascara, maybe some foundation to smooth it all out. Too bad my sisters didn't operate that way, who used to hold up the bathroom for two hours, making my mother scream her head off, and all of us late for school for about the thousandth time.

It ain't my sisters I'm thinking of at that moment though. I hand her the flowers, feeling good about seeing her. "Hola, carino."

"Hola!" She sees the flowers, and her face lights up like Christmas. She takes them from me, fingers them like she's never gotten a bouquet before. Touched, I reach out, take her chin in my hand. Those eyes connect to mine, all innocence and curiousity. Without giving myself time to think it through, I lean down, land my lips on hers. There's electricty in it, and I feel Ana shiver. Sometimes, it's too damned bad how things work out.

"You look good," I tell her, caressing her face with the side of my thumb because I want to. She looks stunned for a couple seconds, but recovers pretty quick, smiling.

"Mentiroso. No, I don't," she argues with me. I still say I'm right.

I don't want to confuse her anymore, this ain't a game, least not to me. I pick up her bag. Gotta admire a woman that travels light. "Come on, let's hit the road."

The whole way to the car, she entertains me with stories from home, mostly about Sofia. Five years between them, and she was Ana's baby from the start. From what Ana says, she was the one to name her, was the one who let a crying baby sleep in her bed, the one who looked after her while the folks worked longs hours. 'Bossy' is how Ana describes her, 'smart-mouthed' more than once, but you can tell the sun sets and rises on the kid, and not just with Ana.

I pull out of the parking lot, craving the speed. Everybody's born to die, why walk on eggshells in the meantime? If you ain't got a rush now and then, but what's the point of being alive? Ana lets out of gasp, then giggles, shaking her head at me. I wink, and she averts her eyes shyly, before looking back at the flowers, fingering them almost tender like. I return my eyes to the road.

"You never brought flowers before," she says.

"Well, there was a lady selling them outside." One that looked like she could use the ten dollars, so why not?

"You never kissed me before either," she points out, keeping her eyes focused straight ahead. I can't tell by her voice if she's pissed or not.

I decide to go for the easy out. In this case, no point in taking the other way. "Just making it look good." I take a good look at her, and she's not pissed...just amused and a little off guard. I reach out my hand for her passport, playing my part.

Ana shakes her hand, digs out her passport. "You must be fighting with your real girlfriend."

Okay, so she thinks I'm rebelling. I wish it were that simple, just a normal fight between a normal couple. No, Elisa hasn't been giving me any grief, not that she can't help anyway. I try to laugh it off, but it ain't so funny when you know the whole story. "What makes you say that?"

"I'm right, yeah?" she persists, then chuckles.

"Eh, she wants a wedding date." It's the last thing we need, the hassle of a wedding, on top of everything else. "I don't know what the big rush is."

Leaning her head back on the headrest, Ana gives me one of those long looks. "You should be happy you have someone, Alvaro."

I know that. In spite of everything, Elisa's one in a million, and my life would suck without her. Still...the idea of getting married at 22, with or without her baggage, makes me edgy. Ain't that kind of a bad sign? "I just don't see doing that till I want kids."

"When's that?" she wants to know.

"40, maybe?"

That earns me a light punch on the arm. "You're like my sister, Sophia," she informs me. "We call her la princesa because she wants everything."

"Asi." Why not? Life can be a party, you play your cards right. I gotta laugh at the face Ana's making at me. When's the last time she did something for the hell of it, because she wanted it? Almost like she's answering my question, she takes out a folded up piece of paper. It looks like it's something out of a magazine. "What's that?"

"It's what I want. Get a job for a big company on the Bigota. Work by a window with a nice view, flowers on my desk." The way she talks, I can tell that she's had the picture in her head for a long time, everything she wants out of life in one lump sum. It must be nice, knowing exactly what you want.

"Bet you can make that happen." Knowing Ana, she can get anything she sets out for. Now, for the question of the hour. "So, are you going to stop this work?"

"I'm telling Ramiro tonight," she announces firmly.

I go for understatement of the year. "You know he won't let you go easy."

"I know."

Ana wanting out ain't exactly the shock of the century. Some people dig this life, life on the edge, every second a thrill. I got to admit, I get what hooks people. This life can be as much of a drug as the heroin these girls carry around in their gut. It ain't like that for her though. She's doing it for her family, and now she's got other options to check out. Hey, I'm all for her getting out of here, I don't want her to get twisted up when the bust goes down. I just don't think it's going to go as smooth as either of us are hoping.

I pass a guy, doing it fast and neat. They call it the fast lane for a reason, jackass. The speed goes up to 70, and I ride the road, hugging the curves hard. "You drive fast," my passanger observes.

"It's the only speed I know." The only speed I wanna know.

"You like the rush."

Like it? Hell, it's what gets me through the day sometimes, the burst of energy bursting through your system, making you feel alive, for a while anyway.

I bet I ain't the only one. "Don't you?"

"Nah." I scoff. Yeah, right. "What?"

"Come on." Who you trying to sell, Ana? "When you're lying to the ball-buster Customs cop, all those drug dogs are sniffing at you, and then he finally waves you on through...how do you feel?"

The whole time I've been talking, she's smiling and laughing, and I just got to notice how she ain't just pretty when she does that. She's beautiful. "Great," she admits a little sheepishly.

"Ah!" Caught you, didn't I?"

"Yeah, it feels great." It don't sit right with her, liking something like that. It isn't part of the world she wants for herself, or been programmed to want. Just like wanting her don't sit right with me. There's a hundred reasons for her being off limits, and maybe that's part of why I want ignore the 'touch and die' sign.

"'Cause it's a rush, right? That's what I'm talking about." It's okay to feel that way, it's human.

"I pretend I'm someone else when I talk to them," she tells me. "Someone who is not scared."

It hits a little too close to home. The lie within a lie. "And it works."

"You do the same thing?" The way she asks that, like she knows the answer, has me looking over. I study her for a minute, trying to read her, then focus my eyes back on the road. Don't get paranoid...

"I took your phone, Alvaro," she says, taking it out of her purse. I keep my cool, take it from her. Maybe she hasn't put two and two together. Then there's a part of me that wants her to solve it, so I can get rid of these damned lies I want to choke on.

Keeping my mask on, I take it from her. "I thought I lost it at work." It's thin, but the best I can come up with on short notice.

"I saw the names on it. I know who you really are. It makes sense." I played this moment over and over in my head, what would happen if she found me out. What would she do? Would she be pissed? Would she go and snitch on me? Or would she look at me with quiet hurt because I'd lied to her?

I didn't see this one coming, and the cop in me is telling me to shut her down, the man, the one that's connected to her, wants to put myself in her hands. Obviously, she ain't gonna rat me out. If that was her plan, she'd have kept her mouth shut, and gone straight to Ramiro. I can trust her, but I'm a cop. It might be corny, but doing my job means a lot, and I can't loose sight of that.

"Ana..."

Oh, she's just got to keep on going. She's leans forward in her seat, keeping at me. Hell, she might have made a good cop. "That you're more than just this...driver."

God help me. "Ana, don't talk about it! I mean it!"

She falls back into her seat, the slap of my words sending her into silence. Still, we both know I ain't denying nothing, that I've confirmed what's been brewing her in mind since last trip. I just don't got it in me to keep lying to her, since I'm busted anyway. I tuck the phone away, although I have the urge to chuck it out the window. Given away by my own cell phone. That's rich.

Switching lanes, I pull into the hotel parking lot. It's the last thing I want to do. I hate leaving it like this, all I want to do is speed off with her. _And to hell with the job?_ A sinister little voice buzzes in my head. _To hell with Elisa? _Okay, I got it!

"You ready?" I ask her.

"Will you give me your phone number?"

Love to, but...there's only a zillion ways that could screw up everything. "I can't."

"So this is goodbye, then." She won't look at me, keeping her emotions cut off, and I am too. The masks are back on, and it's so fucked up, I want to scream. Then I feel her eyes on me, and have to swallow over a lump in my throat. When did I get to be such a wuss?

"It's been good...talking to you." Even if live to be a hundred and ten, I ain't ever forgetting the short time we spent together. That scares me, 'cause it doesn't make sense.

Then she's smiling, so sweet, and I feel my resolve start to crumble. "Be nice to your girlfriend. She won't wait until you're 40."

"Ana." Her name is out of my mouth before I can help it. I make sure no one's looking, and scribble a number down. It's against my training, against the rules...everything I'm supposed to stand for. "Only if you're in trouble," I tell her, praying she'll never have to use it, but at the same time, hoping she will, so I can help her get free of this trap.

Giving a little nod of agreement, she grips the paper, wrapping her fingers around mine in the process. The contact feels right, and I never want to let her go. Then she's getting out of the car. How was I supposed to know that I'd never see her again?


	2. Ana 1

**Author's Note:**

This POV from Ana is going to be part 1 of 2. Her scenes are too long to cram into one chapter, and I wanted to be able to do her justice as much as possible. Thanks for all those that have reviewed, hope the update wasn't too long in coming.

**Masks**

Butterflies flutter wildly in my stomach as the plane lands, but I am careful not to let it show. I put on my mask, and let myself pretend, for survival. I am here, visiting my boyfriend. He will take me to dance, at nightclubs, he will take me to a nice dinner, and I will order whatever I want from the menu. I do not think about what I know about Alvaro now; and no, I cannot decide if I should confront him. Dios! It is not a thing one can just blurt out. 'You are undercover cop, no? Oh, and how is su familia? How about the weather? Bueno?' I will not think about it, not yet.

I unbuckle my seatbelt. The journey of a thousand miles begins with the first step, and I have taken mine many a time, so I know it well. I take my luggage, only take what you can carry on, we are warned. I see Delia, and her presence is a comfort, a reminder I am not alone. She sees me as well, and we exchange a smile, carrying the same secret, the same burden. Why is she here? Like most of us, probably for her family.

Luggage rolls by, a familiar sight. I put on my jacket, letting my eyes shift around, but keep my expression calm. I am someone who has nothing to hide, I remind myself. I am on vaction to see mi amor, the drug dogs sniffing at me mean nothing, the security guards are just more people around me. Delia passes without trouble, and I feel happy. This is her first run, and she is so scared. She's a nice lady, quick to smile, with a kind word for everyone, even those who would not return it.

A custom cop gestures for me, and I pick up the luggage I have set at my feet, and walk over. I make sure to smile, make my voice light. "Hello."

"Where are you from?" He has asked this question many times, I can tell from his tone. I am just another face, another set of numbers on a passport. In a moment, mine will blur into all the others.

"Medellin, Colombia."

He takes the passport, eyes it cynically, a look he must wear often. "Why are you here?"

"Visiting my boyfriend." When I answer, it is Alvaro's face I see in my mind. There is no harm in this, dreams, even the impossible ones, are more precious than silver or gold, though Ramiro would not likely agree.

"Third time in the last year," he comments, not asking for the reason, but demanding it without words.

"He misses me." Did Alvaro miss me? It is silly to think on this, but it is good I think of something. I know that I missed him, even more after his phone gave me the truth.

"Is this all your luggage?" the man asks. I say yes. Now for the question that will decide all. "Are you carrying any drugs?"

"No." It is not a lie, because I am someone else. I keep my eyes on his. This is very important.

"Welcome to the United States." I take back my passport, and again make sure to smile. A wave of excitement passes through my whole body, and I feel as though I can almost fly on it. A sense of anticipation couples with it, because I will be seeing Alvaro, and it is a heady mix. Ay! I am behaving like my sister Sophia, who has made infatuation a sport, as much as soccer, and she is skilled. Good thing I am there to keep her feet on the ground, or she would be in confession day and night.

These feelings are foreign to me. I have never been one to have my head turned. Marriage and a house full of babies has never been the path I wish to travel. I think of the magazine picture in my pocket, and feel a longing so acute, it hurts inside. This dream is one I can touch.

I come down the esclator, and my heart beats faster when I see him. ¡Chica insensata! I _am _being senseless, but can help it no more than I can help being Ana. The mind cannot control the heart, and this is fine, as long as the heart does not control the mind.

With his greeting, he gives me a gift of flowers. Only my papi has ever given me such, and I do not think that counts so much. "Hola!" I cannot keep my joy hidden, my mask is put aside for the moment, and I examine the flowers. Ay, que bonita!

I am startled when he grips my chin. For a second, I think perhaps I have something on my face, and he is going to brush it away. He is giving me a look, one I don't understand. He has never looked at me that way before. Then he leans in, and kisses me. His lips carry fire. Then, when it's over, he breaks into a smile, and I tell myself that I am alone in how I felt.

The way he caresses my cheek makes me want to shiver. He tells me I look good. He is sweet, but I know this has to be a lie. "Mentirosa. No, I don't."

"Come on, let's hit the road." He picks up my luggage, and we leave. I tell him of Sophia, and her 'love' for one of her teachers. She claims she is dying of love, and I told her it must be a very slow way to die, because she looks perfectly healthy to me. Alvaro thinks this is very funny, although I did not really mean it to be. Still, I laugh too, because his laugh is contagious.

When he starts the car, and begins to drive away from the airport, he does so as though he's...hmmm, what is the saying...'bat out of hell?' I know he likes to drive this way, the fact that he could give someone failure of the heart is just amusement, I suppose. Too bad for him I like it, so I suppose I am spoiling his fun by not saying a Hail Mary?

I cradle my flowers. "You never brought flowers before."

"Well there was a lady selling them outside." No big thing to him. How could he have understood what this meant to me? _I_ do not even understand.

"Never kissed me before either." I do not like to think he was using me to punish someone else, or prove point.

"Just making it look good." He does not have trouble answering, and does it well. Ah, a smooth one, are you not, Alvaro?

He reaches out for my passport. "You must be fighting with your real girlfriend." I try not to look hurt, because I should not be hurt. I tell myself it is because I am no man's tool, at least, not without getting paid a thousand dollars I am not. I hand it to him.

"What makes you say that?" He laughs through the question. As if he has reason to wonder!

"I'm right, yeah?"

"Eh, she wants a wedding date. I don't know what the rush is." When he speaks, he does not sound so happy, the way a groom should. He loves her, no? I can tell this when he talks about her. He is young, si, but good marriages have been made younger. Santa Maria, he is no longer a boy. He should not act like one.

"You should be happy you have someone, Alvaro," I tell him truthfully. Someone you can love, and will return that in full measure.

"I just don't see doing that till I want kids." Does she know that?

"When's that?"

"40 maybe." Then he smiles, and as handsome as it makes him, even with all that charm that comes so easily, he's loco if he thinks any girl would wait that long.

"You're like my sister, Sophia," I scold him, tapping my fist on his arm. "We call her la princesa because she wants everything."

"Asi." Ay, he has no shame! I make a face at him, and try not to laugh. Counting him as hopeless, I take out my picture. I will be facing Ramiro soon, and I need my courage. "What's that?" he asks.

"It's what I want. Get a job for a big company on the Bigota. Work by a window with a nice view, flowers on my desk." This is the first time I have dared to say it aloud, as if the words would take it from my reach.

"Bet you can make that happen," he tells me. He believes in me, and knowing that gives me that courage I was searching for. If only...if only we had met in a different time, a different way, a different place. It is too bad that wishes are like pennies. They are shiny, but do not get much. "So, you're going to stop this work?"

"I'm telling Ramiro tonight." The thought twists my stomach into knots, but I will not let fear stop me, no more than I let fear stop me from doing this work. Also, I have my courage now.

"You know he won't let you go easy." He has worry, I can tell, for me.

"I know." I am no child.

A minute later, Alvaro passes a driver, the lights of the city a blur. Much faster, and we would fly. Is that what Alvaro wants? To fly? Is that why he took this...this job? Does he crave danger, the excitement? Maybe it gives him wings.

"You drive fast." That much is obvious, but I wished to break the silence.

"It's the only speed I know."

"You like the rush," I speculate, not just meaning on the road.

"Don't you?" he asks, maybe to take the focus off him.

"Nah," I answer automatically, and he scoffs at me. "What?"

"Come on," he says cynically. I raise an eyebrow, curious as to why he is so quick not to believe my denial, knowing it is only matter of time before he tells me. I have never met a man who is shy of talking when he thinks he is right. Of course, I have not met many men. "When you're lying to the ball-buster Customs cop, all those drug dogs are sniffing at you, and then he finally waves you on through...how do you feel?"

I could lie, but if he is what I think he is, what he must be, it would be a waste of time. Besides, my face betrays me. When I am embarrassed, I never blush, I smile and laugh. "Great," I admit. What does that say about me?

"Ah!" He likes being right, I can tell. He sounds so pleased with himself.

"Yeah, it feels great," I give him his due, but I feel embarrassed at being caught.

"'Cause it's a rush, right? That's what I'm talking about." The way he says it, it makes me feel better, as though he knows my shame in this, and is telling me it is all right.

"I pretend I am someone else when I talk to them. Someone who is not scared." _Is that what you do, Alvaro?_ The mask hiding another mask.

"And it works." He does not seem so amused suddenly, but still calm.

"You do the same thing?" I look over at him, wanting to see if his eyes will tell me the truth. He is searching, but trying not to let me see. He wears his masks well. Do they ever weigh heavy on him? I throw mine to the ground. "I took your phone, Alvaro."

Still, he tries to fool me. "I thought I lost it at work." Tentativa muy mala, I think to myself. He could do better, he must. Perhaps, I think with some hope, he does not _want _to lie to me.

"I saw the names on it. I know who you really are. It makes sense." I want him to understand that I am not angry for this, I am glad. It only makes what I feel...however stupid it is, stronger.

"Ana..." There is fighting inside him, I can see it.

"That you're more than just this...driver." Understand me, please! Don't shut me out. I want to say it but he won't let me have the chance to go on.

"Ana, don't talk about it! I mean it!" His voice is harsh, and I feel as though I want to cry. Not because of the way he spoke, but _everything_. I am so confused inside, I don't know what is wrong and what is right. I have never felt that before, and that it is new makes it all the worse.

We arrive at the hotel, and I almost beg him to keep driving. Five more minutes...just until I feel myself again, and then I will face Ramiro.

"You ready?" he asks. No! Maybe not five minutes. Maybe we could drive forever, go fast, until we both fly. Maybe he would kiss me again...

_And then what?_ I ask myself miserably. We cannot run, I have lumps of heroin in my gut, and he is bound by what he is as much as me. _What about his girlfriend?_ I have no right to steal what is hers. Some women can cheerfully plant knives in the backs of women, but I am not one. I may want to, but I won't.

"Will you give me your phone number?" I ask the question before I knew I would.

"I can't."

Por supuesto. My mistake. "So this is goodbye then." I am proud, my voice does not crack. I will keep my dignity since one request let me fall on my face, as the saying goes, no?

"It's been good...talking to you." It is a comfort, that he wants me to know this.

It allows me to smile at him. I do not want it to end bad. "Be nice to your girlfriend. She won't wait until you're 40." I say this, perhaps to make up for my earlier temptation, for wanting one last kiss, for wanting it still. Pennies and wishes, I tell myself again.

"Ana." He says my name, and my heart leaps in hope. He looks out the window. ¿Qué. ..? He steals a scrap of my paper, from the flowers, and writes a number. "Only if you're in trouble," he tells me.

I nod in asnwer, trying to assure him. I know this is a huge risk for him. I take the paper, curl my fingers around him. I wish I never had to let go, even if they are only pennies. It is a moment I will treasure forever...even if my forever would not be so long. How could I have know that?


	3. Ana 2

Good fortune is with me. The 70 cookies I carried in my gut, they are all out, and all is good. Gracias Dios. But this is not time for celebrating. Delia, the new lady, was not so lucky. She is sick. I know what it means, all of us who have done this work for a while know. Game over. I do not have the heart to tell her the truth. A lie can be mercy.

"Shh...Tranquila." I tell her, pitching my voice in the way I do with Sophia, when she is upset or afraid. The first is often, the second very rare where mi hermana is concerned. I miss her. I take Delia from the bathroom, a cool cloth in my hand. She is sweating, and is running a fever. The burst pellet is poisioning her.

As we come into the room, I spare Ramiro a glance. He is watching us, waiting for Delia to die. He is not so smart, but he has good instincts. Like an animal, he can smell out fear and weakness, use it. He uses us, and we let him, because we know no other way. _I do now,_ I remind myself, but it is not so easy to remember. I felt so sure and strong when I was in the car with Alvaro, but with Ramiro's dark eyes on me, my heart pounds, and my throat wants to close.

I force myself to think of Delia, and the lie comes easy. When did lies start to come so easy? "You'll be okay when they're all out."

"You felt like this too?"

I nod. "For a little while. But I'm fine now, see?"

"Si. I did this for my son." I wipe her brow as I listen. Does he know how much his mother loves him, and what that love will cost?

"Yeah?" I want her to keep talking, so she will not think of the pain.

"To get him out of jail. His wife gave up on him. He's a good boy. He just needs another chance." She does not say any more, doubling over in pain. I feel so helpless. I am no doctor, what can I do?

"Ana," Ramiro's announces, "you travel again in two months."

It would be easy to not say anything, to forget my plans. "Fuerte, mi hija, fuerte," Delia whispers. I look into her dying face, and I know I can not keep doing this. The next time, it might be me, I might pay too high a price.

The flowers Alvaro give me are on the dresser, and I walk over to them, touch them. I remember my dream, working with flowers on my desk. I am more than this, if I let myself be. Yo sé.

"No Ramiro. This is my last run."

"Oh, you decide now?" His voice is dangerous, his eyes more. He is like a snake, ready to strike, but I will not be a mouse!

"I have the money to help my sister," I try to explain.

"But you haven't been paid yet." Is voice is oily, like he thinks something is funny, and this worries even more than before.

"Yeah, I gave you all 70 cookies," I remind him. I want to scream this at him, but all that will earn me is a slap.

"But you haven't been paid." I had not thought that he would hold the money from me, and now realize this was stupid. I should have been taken my money, then told him.

I will try another way. "You don't need me. You have lots of girls."

"But not everyone can bluff like you. Those big innocent eyes. Huh?" He reaches out to touch my face, and I slap it away. His touch makes me feel dirty. "People believe your crap."

"I want out." I will not give that up.

"What matters is what I want!" He grabs my head with both hands, his face close. His breath smells muy mal, and I feel very afraid. He could do anything he wants, and all Delia could do is watch. I can not show him fear. He would like that too much. "I want to keep your money from this trip-you'll get it next time."

"You can't keep me here." It is a bluff, and he knows it.

"Hmm?" He let's my head go. "Where will you go without this?" Then he shows me my passport. My heart sinks, and I lunge for it, but like I knew would happen, he keeps it from me. Then the pig shoves it down into his pants. "Come get it."

A sense of helplessness and anger fills my chest, until I think it will burst. I look to Delia, who is crying on the bed, trying not to make much noise, or Ramiro might notice her. Smirking, the pig leaves the room, with my passport in his pants. I clench my fists, and beat them against my legs. Once, twice, again and again. A sob burns my throat, but I hold it back. I am trapped. ¡Soy atrapado como un animal!

I whirl around, glaring at the cookies. He would sell his soul for these pellets, already has. He sees money when he looks at these, and all but drools. Hmph! He would do anything for them.

Anything? Would he give a passport and thousand dollars for them? The thought is new, and I look at the goods with new eyes.

I grab two cookes, run to my coat, stuff my ticket to freedom in the inside jacket. Delia is frozen on the bed, half lying down. I stop, and look at her. I can't leave her...I can't...I close my eyes.

Sophia's sweet face comes to me, mi casa, kissed by the sun. My parents, the way they still love each other after all these years. My office with flowers, and a nice view also. Torn, I open my eyes.

"Go, mi hija. Ahora," she murmurs, half gone. She's going to die, no matter what I do. Why should I stay for something I can't change?

A tear slides down a my cheek as I kiss her hot brow. I run from the room. If I look back, I will stay. Then I am someone else as I leave the hotel. There is no money for taxi, but in my daydream, it is because I forgot my wallet at home. Thank God I have change in my purse for a bus. I hurry along to the bus stop, keeping to the shadows. I have no reason to be afraid, it is because I am playing a game.

The bus comes a bit later, and I get on, give the change. It is late, and there is only a handful of people on the bus with me. I choose a seat up front. I take out the picture from the magazine, draw strength from it. Daydreams can only last so long, and by now Ramiro has to know I am gone, the cookies with me. Alvaro's number is in my pocket, I could call him. Alvaro could help. I should call him. Yes, I will...no. At least, not yet. I will wait a little while longer.

Out the window, I see we are passing a church. On impulse, I push the buzzer, and get off. I read the sign: St. Abigail's. The El Rachero runs this church, I have heard of him. I send up a prayer of thanksgiving. I knock on the door, looking around me. What if Ramiro saw me leave? What if he followed me? He might think I swallowed them again. He would cut up a girl for much less. Qué un monstruo.

Just when I am about to go loca, the door opens. It is the priest. "Padre, I ask for sanctuary. Por favor." I force my voice to come strong and clear.

He frowns, looks at behind me. "Were you followed, senorita?"

"No." I do not add I am not sure, he might turn me away.

"Come in." He smiles at me now, and opens the door wide enough to let me in, and I let a sigh of relief come once the door closes. "I am Father Peralta. What is your name?"

"Ana." His voice is kind, so are his eyes, but I steel myself against trusting too much. I have learned that the wolf can wear sheep's clothing. He does help girls like me...but nothing comes free. All the same, over a bowl of soup, he coaxes my story from me, bit by bit. Finally, I have come to the end. "He has my passport, and will not give me my money."

"You still have the cookies?" Father Peralta questions, and I feel uneasy. He has been kind, but I have seen what men would do for what I have, or for the money it can bring. Look what I have already done for the thousand dollars.

"I hid them." I promise myself that when I can, I will do just that.

"Bueno. I am leaving now, but I will be back in a few hours. Don't worry, I'll lock the door behind me when I go. When I come back, we will figure out what to do. For now, come with me." He leads me to a cell. There is a latina already there. She is smoking a cigarette, her face slightly ashen. She has blonde streaks in her hair, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She looks familiar. "This is Ceci, Ceci, this is Ana. She too has asked for sanctuary." He points to a bed. "You can sleep there. Ceci will show you the ropes." Then he left us both alone.

Me and Ceci talk for a while. She does show me the ropes, and then we settle down in the cell. We both find out we have seen each other before, but only from a distance. She was one of Ramiro's girls too, but her stomach can hold nothing no more. She shows me the scar on her arm, and my stomach rolls thinking that Ramiro would do worse to me if I did not have the cookies. Ceci is nice enough, and I feel I can trust her, since we are alike in many ways.

Still, when I go into the chapel to hide the cookies, I lie, and say I am going to the bathroom. I look around, and it occurs to me that the sleeve of the Virgin Mary will hide the cookies. I look up at her. "Perdóneme, la dama," I murmur, hoping my apology reaches her ears. I hurry back to Ceci, before she starts to get suspicious. She is smoking another cigarette.

"After the first run, I bought my parents a car." I still remember the joy on their faces, how proud my father was as he ran his hands over the leather seats, as though he were caressing a child's cheek. My mother bragged for months to her friends. Sophie was not so blindly happy. "Sophia wanted to know where I got the money."

"Did you tell her?" The understanding in Ceci's face makes it easier to talk.

"No, she looks up to me." I lied, the first lie I ever told her. It cost me a tiny corner of my soul. Still, I had to protect her.

Ceci notices me looking at my magazine picture. I showed it to her before. "It pays good...being a secretary?"

I nod in answer to the question, trying not to have my dreams burst out of me at once. "If I could get a job like that, I could put her in school." Then she can get a nice job, get rich, and la princesa can take care of me! "I bet you can get a job." I want to encourage her, but honestly, in the half hour or so I have known Ceci, I can not imagine her behind a desk.

"I don't want to go back there. Besides," she adds, sitting down on the bed beside me, "I'm going to Miami, with my boyfriend."

"What are you waiting for?" I don't plan on waiting a minute more than I have to for my dreams.

"He's caught up, too, you know? He's trying to get out, like us."

"Oh, yeah?" She's shaking, and her eyes look glassy. "Are you okay?"

"I quit using when I got here. Father Peralta's rules," she explains. I will not judge her. Those who live in glass houses should not throw stones. I have never touched drugs, but I have brought drugs to this country that others have used. I watch as she lies down.

"Ceci, digame, what's Miami like?" I cannot keep the enthusiasm from my voice. _Tell me, hermana, so I can dream of it later, _I urge her silently.

A look of pleasure washes over her face, her voice dreamy. "Mm. Nightclubs...music...sun...Sun all the time." I picture Ceci, healthy, dancing to a hot, fast beat, her hips swaying, her hands held up to the sun. This is how I will see in her my mind when we part. "My God, Ana. How did you get away from Ramiro tonight?"

The question reminds me that this is not the time to daydream. "I ran. Left a new lady there. She was sick."

"If a pellet opened, there's nothing you can do; she's going to do die if you're there or not." Ceci's words are sensible, but they make me feel worse. That's because that thought was mine earlier tonight, and now that I hear it out loud, it is a cold one.

"But maybe I can get her out. Get her to a doctor." If it's not too late already.

"He would never let you. Besides, you can't go back." The thought of going back, even for my passport, even for the money, even for Delia makes me feel half sick. I look at my magazine. Ramiro will not take my family, my dreams from me. Never!

Folding my picture, I put it back, turning to Ceci. "I stole two cookies."

"What!" This brings her to a sitting position. "Let me see."

Glass house or not, it would be stupid to show cookies to someone who uses. I do not want to hurt her feelings, though. "I hid them."

"Ramiro's gonna kill you, Ana!"

"No," I insist. I will not let him. "He's going to give me my passport for them."

I hear Father Peralta come back in an hour later, and tell Ceci good night. After talking some, the padre agrees to my plan. He drives me back to the hotel. He promises he will be right outside if I need him, and ducks into the shadows when Ramiro opens the door.

No matter where I look in the room, I can't see Delia. "Where's Delia?" I demand, praying I am wrong.

"Done," he answers without feeling. "Where the cookies?" He locks the door.

As though I am that stupid. "I didn't bring them." I decide to come to the point fast. "I want my passport and a thousand dollars, then you'll get them."

"Why you think you can call the shots?" I back up as he comes forward, but force my voice to be hard, my expression too. I am not some piece of...of...of property!

"Because I got something you want, hidden somewhere you'll never find," I remind him.

"Not how it works." He is so mad, and as long as he doesn't have his cookies, he can't do anything about it. If he didn't make my skin crawl, I might enjoy this.

"We do the deal, and I go."

The door opens behind me, the one to the bathroom. There is a man, one I've never seen, his bare chest covered in blood, a knife and a bag of pellets in his hands. "Ramiro. I got them all. Minus the busted one."

I look past this man, and I see Delia in the bathroom. I can see, even from here, she is dead. Even so, I walk towards her. "Oh God...Delia!"

"Stop walking," the man in blood says, "unless you want to be next." There is madness in his eyes, as though he is not all there. _Maybe on something, _my mind tells me. I see the knife, and I know he would use it on me to make me tell. Santa Maria...

"Padre!" I scream. Even for my passport, no más. He does not fail me. He pounds at the door until Ramiro opens it, even though the chain is still in place.

"Open it," he orders. Gracias, Padre. Oh, Gracias. I hold my breath, afraid Ramiro will not, or worse, hurt him too. But he does open the door, and nothing more bad happens. "She's coming with me," he tells Ramiro. You don't have to tell me twice. I run past Ramiro, to safety.

On the way back to the church, I can not stop crying. I keep seeing Delia in my head, dead, in the bathtub. When I left, I could have taken her with me, I could have dropped her off at a hospital. But I was too worried about myself. Selfish...now she's dead.

When we come back, I light candles for her. It is precious little. I turn to him, ready to confess, in a sense. "I told Delia she would be okay."

He answers my sin with compassion. "It wasn't your fault."

"But I knew she was dying and I lied." And I left her.

He cups my face in his hands, trying to comfort me. "It wasn't a lie. It wasn't a lie, it was hope." In that moment, I saw demons in his eyes. Does even a priest have sins that torment him? It is a comfort, perhaps, to know that even men of God fall from grace. He let's me go, and paces a little, linking his hands behind his head. "Ana, you have to leave."

To hit me would have been better. "But you said I was safe here."

"Yes, for tonight. But he will come here tomorrow, looking for you." Who would he hurt to find me?

Yet..."He still has my passport."

"Forget that."

"Forget going home?" Forget my mother, father...Sophia? The idea of doing that is so painful, it's too much. No, I will not crumble. There has to be a way. Alvaro would be here, even if he brings only friendship. "Then I will find work here, send Sophia money to come here." She has always wanted to come here.

"Ramiro will find you here." I can find a way around that. Alvaro will help me. He will make the bust soon, and it will all be okay.

"I have the pellets. Maybe I can get money for them..." Buy myself a new passport, a new last name.

He does not want to hear about that. "I can't help you with that."

"They're worth a lot." I should know.

"Forget the drugs, forget the money. It is time for you to save yourself." Then he drops to his knees, unlocks a drawer, and pulls out something.

"Que estas haciendo?" I ask.

"Wait, wait," he tells me. He pushes a wad of crumbled money into my hand. "Okay. Now we have to find you a place to stay."

I take out the paper with Alvaro's number. "There is someone I can call." He will help me, and I will have hope.


	4. Lilly

**Author's Note**

I'm sorry it took me so long to get this thing updated, but here it is. I hope to get chapter 5 up in a decent amount of time.

**Lilly's POV**

It doesn't bother me. Nope, not a bit. Not personally, anyway. I just hate sloppy police work, and let me tell you, this one is pretty damn sloppy. I make a point of ignoring him, our resident Don Juan. He's got that look, one he's got down pat, the Scotty-Valens-tortured-soul look. Give me a break. Vera's eating it up, though, hovering over him like some mother hen, and trying not to be too obvious. Jeffries is taking a more subtle approach, keeping his distance but keeping an eye on him.

So what if Scotty's kicking himself? All I got to say is, kick harder, Valens, kick harder. Am I miffed? Nope, not a bit. What do I care if the guy withholds important information on a **case**? What do I care if the guy compromises his own career by giving his phone number to a **drug mule**? What do I care if he can't keep his boundries straight, that all it takes is a pretty, vulnerable girl, and all the rules go out the window? It doesn't bother me.

I breeze by the desks, and out onto the balcony, where just a few minutes ago, Scotty was standing. The more I think about it, the more I realize that maybe my partner and my sister made a better couple than I thought. Expert liars, impulsive, but both always come out smelling likes roses. I'm sick of it. I'm sick of everyone else always making exceptions for them, always excusing away their messes, wiping the slate clean.

I'm just as guilty as everyone else for letting them slide. How many years did I clean up after Chris, how many lies did I tell, how many corners did I cut, to get her out of a jam? How many times I have I given Scotty the benefit of a doubt? I didn't think he was a right fit from the word go, but did I stick to my guns? Nope, I went and gave him a chance. There's a dangerous side to him. Oh, everyone's got their dark side, but I have the feeling that Scotty's can get pretty dark. Look how at home he was playing his part for Ramiro. I bet he liked the danger, a drug onto itself.

Me, the world's great moron, trusted him. I believed him when he said nothing happened with Chris, never thought he'd lie through his teeth, right to my face. If Chris, with her big mouth, hadn't blabbed, how many months would he have kept it up, kept lying?

_Maybe he lied because he knew you couldn't handle it, _a little voice whispers in my ear. So, it's **my** fault! It's my fault he couldn't keep it zipped for five minutes after his girlfriend, since he was fourteen-frickin'-years-old killed herself? Wow, don't knock yourself out with all that restraint, Scotty, you might hurt yourself. Why, that-

Wait a minute. What I am I doing? Mentally bashing him over something we settled last year? He apologized. The memory softens me up a bit, has me considering. As proud as he is, that most have cost him something, to admit he was wrong.

Well, he should have apologized! He lied to me, and he...he...hurt me...

_Why? _That little voice whispers again. Well, because...because...because he lied. Because he made me doubt him every time he opened his mouth. Certainly not because I have some hidden set of feelings for him, because contrary to popular belief, not every girl falls for a hot guy with a lot of charm. My interest in Scotty Valens is strictly plantonic, and yet...I **do** care about him, deeply, as a friend. Outside of Lindsay, the guys, and maybe Kat, I don't have any other friends. Well, there's my cats, but they're more like my kids than friends.

I've never taken to people easy, or visa versa. I lean my elbows on the rail and sigh. Oh, sure, I can read them good, know how to make them open up, but that's a world of difference than being friends. I don't give out my friendship lightly, and maybe except too much from my friends. He shouldn't have lied, he shouldn't have made me doubt my judgement. He shouldn't have been dating Chris.

_Was that your decision?_ Damn that little voice. Okay, no, he's a big boy, and he was single, she was single, but she was all wrong for him. I know her act line by line, and he should have trusted me when I told him to stay away. Not that I offered any examples...the only reason he knew about Patrick was because she must have told him about it.

_I can't help what happened nine years ago,_ Scotty told me, and that's what hurt me most. He was dismissing what I went through, a 'gee, sorry' moment. He didn't understand it wasn't just her having sex with Patrick, it was the act of betrayl itself. All those years of me taking care of her, of loving her, sharing my life with her, and she could stab me so easily in the back. He'd never understand what she robbed me of, that security of thinking you know someone, only to see a side of them so ugly, even being a cop didn't prepare you for it, because it's not someone else. It's you who has the knife in your back.

I lost a sister and a lover that day, and just when I thought I had her back, she had to go plant a knife in my back again. It's not that I wanted Scotty for myself, it's that she was sneaking around, interfering with my life. She was swooping in on a guy messed up, I've seen her do it so many times, offer to kiss it, and make it all better. It's one of her better acts. You could only get slapped by the truth so many times before it dawns on you: It's never going to change.

Is it like that with Scotty? Is it just going to be one screw-up after another, each time expecting everyone to forgive and forget? He lied again, by omission, certainly, but he knew what he was doing. He knew that giving her that phone number might be important, and he kept quiet, because he didn't want to take the heat. It's not what he did in '98 that bugs me. It was crossing a line, but it's human, it's understandable. It's how he handled it today that I can't get over so easy.

There's no easy answer, no real resolution, except maybe time. And maybe, just maybe, I've got to change how I look at Scotty. Instead of having expectations that he can't or won't live up to, maybe on a personal level, I've just got to take it day by day, see his weaknesses, expect them. At least, until he can prove that I can actually count on him.

Feeling better, I push away, go back inside. Ceci's coming in, me and Kat are set to interriogate her, see if we can crack her. Whatever problems I have with Scotty, I'm a cop, and I've got to put that above everything else.

I hope I always do.


	5. Scotty 2006

**Author's Note:**

Okay, everyone. This is the fifth and final chapter. Thanks for the feedback, both on and on Cold Case Source #1 boards. Enjoy!

**Masks**

I gotta get out, I can't breathe. I ignore Lilly's icy glare, whose sitting on her desk. Being on the Ice Queen's shit list ain't got nothing on how pissed I am at myself, and I'm used to being in the dog house where she's concerned. I go out on the balcony. The snow's falling, and it's warmer out there than it is in the office, all things considered.

A minute later, Nick comes out. What'd they do? Draw straws? I ain't in the mood for a pep talk, 'cause there ain't any words that'll make this right. Eight years this has been waiting to bite me in the ass, and it finally did. Still, I got off lucky. Ana's the one dead, and maybe if I'd done my job, she'd be out there somewhere, working at a desk...with a nice view, and flowers. 'Maybe?' Ah, who the hell am I kidding?

"Nice spot." I bet he's freezing his ass off, but he's too good of a friend to walk away and leave me to beat myself up in peace.

Fine, you wanna watch? You want the truth? "I killed this girl." Like I had the knife in my own hands. I can almost feel her blood, hot and sticky, and I'm a step away from getting sick off it.

"Come on." He ain't one to waste words.

Still, I can't get around it. I'm taking a good, hard look at myself, and don't like what I see. "I shouldn't have done that job. I can't keep my boundries."

"Look, you give a damn. It makes you a good cop in most situations."

No, giving a damn is helping little old ladies across the street, it's trying to help a buddy out, it's working long hours. It ain't putting a job on the line. It ain't jumping into bed with the first pretty girl that makes eyes at you, because you can't stand the quiet. It ain't buying into a bunch of lies, and getting hung out to dry.

"I do this over and over. You saw me last year with Christina." Hell, everyone saw it, probably drawing up bets too see how it'd take to crash and burn. If that ain't enough to burn a guy's ass, I don't know what is. "So damn sloppy." I liked it. I liked every screwed up minute, liked seeing how close I could cut it, how far I would push it. Not to mention, what Chris could do in the sack..._Way to go, thinking with your dick, _I tell myself bitterly.

"You were screwed up last year." I've told myself that enough times, my get-out-of-jail free card. But this ain't a game, this is real.

"I wasn't screwed up in '98," I remind him, and myself. "If I just been careful...kept things clean..."

"What?" he asks, in his give-me-a-friggin'-break way. "A girl was swallowing drugs to get a better life-she was doomed. You couldn't save her."

Maybe, maybe not. It don't change the bottom line. "I got bad habits. I got to change." Before the boss has a brain wave, and gives me the boot. And I got to change for me. It seems like I'm dodging one mess after another, my addiction wrapped up in a feminine package. I got to kick it. Not that I got to go live like a monk, I just gotta stop going after women who will screw me over, or who I can screw over.

"Whatever floats your boat. Personally, I don't bother. I got more vices than I can shake a stick at," he patted his gut to drive his point home, "and I don't care. I was on this kick once. I went on a diet, starting buying my wife flowers and all that junk, got home every night, six on the dot if I could help it, and dotted my i's and crossed my t's on the job. You want to know somethin', Valens? I've never been more miserable. I went back to my old ways, and I was happy as a clam."

"Sounds about right." I still feel like the world's biggest jerk, but that little bedtime story takes the edge off. "I don't think that's the way it's going to go down in my case."

"You going to be okay? I mean, you don't need to knock off for the day, walk it off?"

Oh, sounds like a bang-up idea. More time to think about it, really dwell on it. "Naw, thanks, Nicky, I'll make out all right. Just give me a minute to get my head on straight."

The rest of the day, I muddle through. Nick's watching me like a hawk. Is he afraid I'll start bawling, crying for mommy, or something? Will, I got to hand it to him, doesn't come off as obvious, but I can still tell his he's keeping an eye on me. Sure, I mess up, but I ain't a detective for nothing. Will's giving me that hang-in-there-buddy look. Lilly is painfully polite, but it's more of a frost than a deep freeze, so I figure she'll come around in a few days. Kat is careful to keep her nose out of it. She still learning the way things go around here, on a personal level, and she ain't sticking her neck out yet. Stillman keeps his distance, but on our way out, pats my shoulder. He figures that I got that I was wrong, no sense taking me out to the woodshed.

I go to church Saturday, the church she died behind. Not exactly my regular place of worship, but I want to feel close to Ana. Her last night on earth was spent here. I look up at the Virgin Mary, I light the candles for her souls. From Peralta's account, that's exactly what she was doing-eight years ago. Outside, Peralta's baptizing a baby. Poor little kid, he don't even know what kind of world he's got born into. He'll get wise soon enough, I guess, but I send up a prayer that he get's to be innocent for a while. Ignorance is the ultimate bliss sometimes.

Looking over, I see her. She's just like I remember her, those long curls tumbling down, same sweet face. There's a peace in her eyes, and I know, whatever she had to put up down here, she's past it now. Heck, if I'm really going for the gold, maybe I can believe she understands I did the best I could by her, even if it didn't measure up in the end. Maybe _I _can finally understand it. She turns, and disappears.

I say three Hail Mary's, and three Our Fathers, asking forgiveness. I mean to do good by what I said to Nick. I've got to change.


End file.
